You've Got to Have A Heart by George Barnett

You've Got to Have A Heart

George Barnett

The ConTextos Authors Circle was developed in collaboration with young people who are at risk of, victims of or perpetrators of violence in El Salvador. In 2017, this innovative program expanded into Chicago to create tangible, high-quality opportunities that nourish the minds, expand the voices and share the personal truths of individuals who have long been underserved and underestimated. Through the process of drafting, revising and publishing memoirs, participants develop self-reflection, critical thinking, camaraderie and positive selfprojection to author new life narratives.

Since January 2017, ConTextos has collaborated with the Cook County Sheriff's Office to implement Authors Circle in Division X of Cook County Department of Corrections as part of a vision for reform that recognizes the value of mental health, rehabilitation and reflection. These powerful memoirs complicate the narrative about violence and peace-building, and help author a hopeful future for these men, their families, and our collective communities.

While each memoir's text is solely the work of the Author, the images used to create this book's illustrations have been sourced from various print publications. Authors curate these images and then, using only their hands, manipulate the images through tearing, folding, layering, and careful positioning. By applying these collage techniques, Authors transform their written memoirs into fully illustrated books.

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You've Got to Have Heart George Barnett

The earliest memory I have is not even one I can remember myself. My grandmother

told me about my father when I was a slightly more mature child. She spoke of a time

when my dad picked me up from my house when I was 2 years old.

Unfortunately my mother and father had divorced by this time. My father would

come over to spend time with me and take me on little trips. This was mainly

either to the park or the store or whatever errands he had to run. This day was a

special trip, we went to Toys R Us!

I’m told that I had one of the happiest experiences of my young life this day. I

was able to run around in this childhood wonderland and play with all the toys

out on display. My favorite part was riding up and down the aisles of the bike

section on a candy apple red tricycle.

Apparently, like any other child having the time of his life. I didn’t want to leave or get off

the trike. The only way my father knew to prevent the impending “terrible twos” tantrum

was to let me have the tricycle and let me ride it out into the parking lot.

This was a great day for me then and was how I had a remnant of my father left

at my house and a part of my life for the future. Little did anyone know, a few

months later my father passed away from pneumonia caused by his sickle Cell

disease. Unfortunately, I was unable to make many lasting memories of my dad.

Death, which normally is only a figure on the horizon for most, now loomed

heavily in my life. However, my grandmother, aunts, and uncles stepped up to

ensure I had a strong family base and was raised with support and love.

Life continued on normally, or so I imagined, for the next few years. I remember

being in Kindergarten, and in the next classroom over, I could hear my mom

teaching preschool. It was comforting to have her so close as I adjusted, and

life as a kid was great. We got a dog, my grandmother moved in with us, and I

All was as it should be, until things just changed. My young self barely noticed

the transition. It was like a portal appeared before me, and instead of walking into

my normal life, I was transported into a new reality.

This world, unlike the last, was missing someone.

For about a year, my Mother was in the Rehabilitation Institute Of Chicago. To my

shock, my mom’s symptoms for her MS took a commanding presence in her life.

As a young child, I couldn’t perceive my mother’s diminishing condition. In my

mind, one day my mother was up and healthy, and the next next she was gone.

When she got back, she was unable to walk unassisted, or take care of herself.

My world changed as a small child. My routine of school, playing and being

taken care of by my mother was flipped. It was now suddenly my turn to be the

caregiver in this relationship. Luckily we were able to have a day nurse come

during the week to help my mom. So I was able to retain some sense of the

normalcy I was accustomed to. It wasn’t quite the same but I adapted and made

the best out of it.

Over the years my mother saw many doctors, physical therapists and tried many

of the newest medications that might mitigate her condition. Unfortunately,

nothing we tried seemed to take hold. As I grew older from a young child into a

teenager, I watched as my mother steadily declined in health and helplessness.

Until one day it was time to start her final journey.

I remember it all too well. It was a normal Saturday morning in May. I’m excited to

not be going to school, I get to watch my Saturday morning cartoons, get a good

breakfast in me and settle in front of my television for a marathon of video games.

My teenage bedroom is in the basement of our modest South side home. I sleepily

trudge up the stairs to the kitchen where my grandmother is starting to get our

breakfast together. She tells me to go check on my mother and wake her up.

I had shoved to the back of my mind the fact that it is a weekend day so no

nurse will be coming this morning to attend to my mom. All of the full day's

duties will be falling to myself and my elderly grandmother. Changing, bathing,

feeding, and medication. Sounds more like the duties of a parent to a newborn,

but instead it’s a 46 year old woman who has been bedridden with Multiple

Sclerosis (MS) for the past decade on the receiving end of this care.

Little did I know that these responsibilities that I, for the most part have dutifully

carried out for much of my life are about to change.

As I enter her room it is erriely still. The light beige walls reflect the rising sunlight

coming in from two large curtained windows, however it is still somehow dark. The

TV is off, the only sound is a shallow breathing coming from my mothers slightly

parted mouth and the subtle, high pitch ringing you can barely make out in the

back of your mind when it is very quiet.

Almost immediately I know something is off. As I approach my mothers bed, a

steel contraption with the guard rails up and many movable parts to assist in

positioning a person for their care just seems slightly cooler than normal.

I amble across the room with a mixture of cautious haste in my step, calling out for

mom to wake up. Where there should have been bright expressive eyes opening

up to greet me, there was only the slightly slack face of a deep slumber and the

shallowest of breathing that a person could muster.

There was no response. My concern and worry was rising high, however I had

a strange sense of calm that kept me focused on my actions. There was no

time to panic. I futily shake my mom's shoulder one last time in a desperate

effort to wake her. There was no response.

I switched into emergency mode. I ran out of the room to get the cordless

phone and yelled for my grandmother to come. When I get back to the room my

grandmother is repeating my mother’s name and shaking her arm trying to rouse

her. I dial 911 in the background and wait frantically as the phone rings until a

connection is established. Somehow calmly I explain the situation and ask for an

immediate ambulance.

As my grandmother holds her youngest child and pats her arm, time seems to slow

and the gravity in the room increases. I’m holding the phone to my ear as the operator

tries to gain more information about my mom’s condition. Luckily only a few minutes

pass before the ambulance arrives and our quiet home turns into a whirlwind of

activity.

EMT’s rush in and start restoration procedures. Before I know it my mother is

transferred to a gurney and being taken out of the room, her house, the life that we

had all grown so accustomed to.

There was still no response.

Eventually my mother came back to consciousness, but things were never the

same. There was no activity in the house anymore. No doctor visits, no nurse

coming each day, even simple things like meals became muted affairs.

All was not quiet though, we had new trips to the hospital to see my mother. We

went on trips to find an assisted care facility and then visits to this new place.

Updates to her condition came like the volatility of the stock market or bunny hills

on a roller coaster. I was never quite sure what was really going on.

My grandmother and I would receive vague responses at the end of visits. Two more

weeks here, and we will see how she’s doing. One more week and then let’s try a

new physical therapy routine. From my recollection there was never a definitive or

clear response. More direct information was passed to my grandmother, I’m sure, I

just wasn’t privy to it.

Eventually, my fog cleared and the picture became crystal clear. Like a cool breeze

on a hot day the summer months came and went, and the realization that my mother

was never coming home finally set in.

On August 14, 2005 My Mother ascended from this place of existence.

Everything that happened next had a hollow quality to it, like reality had been

thrust into a dream. The days went by like a blur.

Condolences were doled out by family, friends, and strangers alike. The funeral

services, while respectable and spiritual, had unbridled air of pity and sadness that I

felt were directed toward me. It seemed so thick that I could swim through it. At the

same time, like a ray of sun poking through dark clouds, there was a sense of joy and

relief that served as the pillar of emotion over the whole affair.

While many could focus on the tragedy of a life lost too soon,

I chose to see it as a journey completed.

The long years my mother endured of constant pain, and suffering had finally

come to a close.

While my mother's journey was completed mine was just getting started. I

had been tempered and tested yet I persevere with grace and humility. This

experience of my young life has taught me to succeed in life, overcome

hardship and triumph over all challenges. I know that with a clear mind and God

by my side I can rise through it all.

I Am From Poem George Barnett I am from video game consoles From Gameboys and Playstations I am from the quiet, yet active house on the block Where there was always something important going on Bright, yet dark and the sound of Salmon croquettes Frying in the kitchen I am from the RoseBush, where it’s beautiful to look at, but hard to grasp From big family dinners and coming together to lift each other up From the wisdom and heart of Mildred and Earle I’m from Educators and Administrators From “Do your Homework” and “Clean your room” I’m from a strong belief in God and his ability to change all things!

I am from southern heritage, catfish, and greens with hamhock From the Grandmother who disciplined with everything in reach The love of a family, always a peace The hallway of family history, and the big Playboy clock The value of our legacy, never to be forgotten

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